


Good to See You

by the_nerd_word



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Explicit Language, Gen, Homophobia, Racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-11-28 04:39:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/670367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_nerd_word/pseuds/the_nerd_word
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set post-series, Abel and Cain want to stay together. But first, Cain gets to "meet the parents."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I quit this story a little. It's late, I'm grumpy, and endings are stupid. 
> 
> Cheryl - Abel's mother  
> Thomas - Abel's father

_“I don’t care if you’re the best on Earth! You’re not joining the Alliance!”_

It had been three years. Three years of exhaustion fed by fear, hard work, and not enough sleep. Three years of never knowing if today would be the last, the longest, the final battle against the Colterons.

But the Alliance had won, and its soldiers were spat out like the aftertaste of a night no one wanted to remember. 

Awards were awarded and rights were righted; words like “honorable” and “dedication” and “commendation” were tossed back with heavy toasts. And after all was said and done, fighters and navigators alike were given their last order: Return to normal life, fit into society. 

As Abel walked up the whitewashed steps to his parents’ expensive condominium in Complex C, he wondered if that last order wasn’t going to be the most difficult to follow. 

_“Dying in a Territory war is for lowlife colonists. You are my son… And I forbid any further discussion of this.”_

Abel could still hear those words like they were fresh in the air. They echoed in his mind as he raised a hand to knock on the door. He wondered, as he thought back on the 1,132 days he and Cain had teamed together – worked together, fought together, killed together –, if he would hear those words again within the hour. 

“You sure about this?” Cain had asked when they were discharged, looking like he was torn between his usual scowl and faked indifference as they sat at an old sub shop outside of the Cleveland Alliance station. 

Abel had nodded, feeling determined. He wondered now if the feeling had been misplaced, if ambition had made him naïve. But then the door to his childhood home opened, and his mother stood on the other side.

“Oh my God, Ethan! Ethan, you’re really here!” she exclaimed, running forward to hug the veteran man who would always be her baby boy. 

Abel smiled over his mother’s shoulder, hugging her back like he could save the moment forever. “I’m home, Mom. I’m home.”

Cheryl leaned back but didn’t take her hands from his shoulders, and she laughed girlishly despite the tears forming in her blue eyes. “I’m so glad. It’s such a relief to finally see you safe and sound. I worried every day but- You got my messages?”

“Yeah,” Abel said with a quick, excited nod. “Things got spotty near the end, and I’m sorry I couldn’t always write back, but they were a big encouragement.”

“Well come in, come in!” she said, motioning him forward. “The maids are cooking your favorite dish, and we have your room all ready. Do you want a drink? Are you tired? You’re probably exhausted!”

He held up his hands with a short laugh. “I’m good, though some tea with lunch would be nice. But, um, Mom, about my room, I have to tell you –”

Abel cut off when something moved in his peripheral. Descending the marble staircase, standing as tall and proud as he ever did, Abel’s father met them in the foyer. He kept a few feet of distance, eyeing his son closely. There was a brief silence, and Cheryl patted Abel’s arm reassuringly as the quiet stretched. 

“You’re home then,” Thomas said at last, his tone hard to identify. Abel searched his father’s face, trying to find something he could recognize, some indication as to how this reunion would go. Three years had given Thomas stern lines and more silver in his hair, but his shoulders were straight and his gaze was level. 

“Hey, Dad,” Abel said, tone somewhat guarded. “It’s good to see you.” 

“You as well,” Thomas replied smoothly. “It’s been a while.”

Abel nodded, forcing himself to not grip his travel bag tighter.

Cheryl looked from her husband to her son, lips drawn and red nails flicking anxiously. “Well, I’m going to see how they’re doing in the kitchen. You must be starved, dear.” She leaned in to give Abel another strong hug, pressing her cheek to his shoulder. “I just can’t believe you’re home. I’m so, so happy. I can’t wait to hear all about your work.” Before Abel could reply, she looked to the side. “Fedya,” she called, motioning to a colonial servant, “go on and take Ethan’s coat. And don’t forget the windows, there’s still so much pollen.”

With one last smile, she kissed her son on the cheek and left for the kitchen. 

Abel tried not to look awkward when he removed his coat, thanking Fedya quietly and politely as his father went to the lounge. Leaving his bag by the door, Abel followed after Thomas. He watched as his father poured a glass of Crown from a nearby cabinet, the amber swirl of the liquid gleaming behind the crystal. 

“Drink?” his father asked, proffering the glass curiously. When Abel nodded, Thomas handed him the drink and began to pour another for himself. 

Abel took a sip and tried not to shift his weight under his father’s measuring stare. 

“You’ve lost weight,” Thomas said, ignoring his own glass for now. 

Abel gave a modest shrug. “I’ve been under a lot of stress. I didn’t eat as much as I should have. Cain – my fighter – he used to throw stale rolls at me until I would eat more, but I was pretty busy.”

His father frowned, but there wasn’t any criticism in his voice when he said, “You’ll be able to rest now. Much more, anyway. Should put on some weight easily.”

“Yeah, I think so too. How have you and Mom been?”

Thomas sipped at his drink before answering. “Much the same as ever. We took a trip to the hot springs last fall, but beyond that I’ve just been working. Your mother has picked up this crafting habit. I’m sure you’ve noticed,” he added dryly, motioning to the brightly stitched blanket on the “man chair” and the mosaic coasters lining the bar.

Abel made no effort to hide his smile. “It’s certainly more colorful in here. I like it.”

His father grunted but made no reply to that. 

“How’s your work going?”Abel asked. 

“It’s good, it’s good. After the Aegir promotion, talk of a conservative repeal has started. It’ll be interesting to see how things change now that the war is over. When the campaign picks up next month, I’m sure everyone will want to meet you.”

Abel ran a hand through his hair self-consciously. “I’m not that special.”

“Nonsense. You’re a war hero,” Thomas said quietly before taking another sip of Crown. 

Abel watched his father with reserve, wondering at his tone. He wasn’t sure what kind of reception he had been expecting at home, but he hoped his father wasn’t going to hold his decision to commit to the Alliance in contempt. 

“Do you still collect cars?” Abel asked, changing the subject in an effort to find pleasant ground. 

Thomas nodded over his glass, eyes bright. “Of course. I have an Equulues 7 in the garage right now; finest car since the Pyxis. I’ll introduce you, but I imagine you’ll want to unpack first. Don’t mess up your room, by the way; your mother’s been a nag over the whole house ever since you were discharged.”

Abel looking away, feeling anxiety like weight. “Actually, I meant to tell you and Mom… I’m going to stay for a few days – I’ve missed you both so much – but I’m going to find my own place soon.”

His father gave him an appraising look. “Mature,” he offered. “Life in the military taught you independence. That’s good. You’ll want to start your own life here on Earth.”

“Yeah, I do,” Abel answered guardedly, needing a moment to find his resolve. “I’m going to have a roommate.” 

Thomas’ brows lowered in a curious frown. “Who?” 

“My fighter, Cain.” 

“Your fighter. A colonial.” Sharp, surprised. 

Abel nodded tightly and did his best to keep his voice smooth, forcing himself to meet his father’s steady gaze. “Yes. We’ve been together for three years.”

His father snorted. "Just because you were paired as a team doesn't mean he has to be your-" The grip on his glass suddenly blanched white with realization. “Together? You- Are you saying you’ve been- _sleeping_ with him?”

Abel braced himself, but dread and hurt and shame still threatened to roll his stomach. He told himself he had been prepared for this, that his father was his father and no matter what, he’d walk away from this calmly and head held high. But standing there, faced with his father’s disgust, he found it hard to keep his shoulders straight; the fact that his travel bag remained unpacked by the front door didn’t make this any easier.

“Yes,” Abel said, relying on the neatness of honesty to get him through this. Relying on the fact that Cain was waiting in a coffee shop just a few miles away. “I know you don’t approve. I know he’s colonial born, and I know he’s brash and poor, and he’s got a rough past and a bit of an attitude, but I trust him, and I like him, and right now I need what’s best for me, and that’s Cain. We’re both going to get jobs and work hard and make a living together. We’re going to rake leaves and pay bills and burn dinner and just- live, like we both need. And I’m- I’m sorry if you can’t accept that, and I’m sorry that I’ve disappointed you.” His voice dropped to a murmur. “I never wanted to disappoint you, Dad. But this is what I’ve decided.”

Thomas stared at his son in shocked silence, drink forgotten in hand. After a moment, he shook his head, lips moving without sound as he struggled for words. Then, placing his glass on the counter, he turned back. “Ethan…”

“Say what you want, but not around Mom. Let’s just have lunch, and I’ll leave afterward.”

Thomas shook his head. “Foolish,” he whispered.

Abel glared to the side, trying not to look as hurt as he felt. He squared his shoulders to muster some courage when Thomas suddenly closed the distance between them and pulled his son into a hug. “I don’t give a shit about that right now,” he said quietly, roughly, voice uneven for the first time Abel could ever recall. “I thought- I didn’t think- You could have died, Ethan. You could have never come home.” His grip tightened, and Abel struggled faintly for air, but he gripped his father back just as hard, throat growing tense and hands shaking. 

When Thomas leaned away, he released a shaky breath and shook his head again, looking like a fifty-six year-old father rather than a cold politician. “You and that stupid war and your idiotic ideals. But it’s over. It’s over, and my son’s a hero.” His smile was tight, but pride creased his eyes. He paused before asking, “You’re absolutely sure, though? About the colonial?”

Despite the small protest he felt, Abel couldn’t help but laugh in relief, mind racing to keep up with the turn of the conversation. “It’s Cain. Nikolai is his real name. And yes, I’m sure. I think it’s the right decision.”

His father didn’t look convinced, and there was an edge of disdain in the acknowledging hum he gave, but he nodded. “You always were… daring. So,” he said decisively, dissatisfied but curious, “just what kind of man is this Cain?”

“Well…”


	2. Chapter 2

“I don’t think this is a good idea, princess.” 

Abel smoothed the front of Cain’s dark green sweater and offered a reassuring smile. “Give them a chance. They’re willing to give you one.”

“I will,” Cain griped half-heartedly. “But they won’t like me.” He tugged at his collar, unconsciously mimicking Abel’s efforts to straighten his appearance.

“They’ll like you,” Abel said with confidence he didn't feel, dearly hoping it was true. He looked around their modest kitchen and dining area, counting off fingers as he started to talk. “The table’s all set and the pasta is ready, mom’s favorite wine is out, everything’s clean –”

“Nobody’s naked,” Cain added helpfully, smirking.

Abel smiled at him before he continued. “Nobody’s naked, and dessert just went in the oven. Right, I think… that’s it.”

Cain pushed up his sleeves and leaned against the kitchen counter. “You’re as nervous as I am.”

Abel shrugged, but he nodded after a moment. “We’ve only been in this apartment for three weeks; I feel like I haven’t had enough time to really, you know, make it homey.”

“You mean you’re worried they’ll think it’s a shitty place,” Cain said, not quite asking.

Abel sighed. “Yeah. That.”

Cain opened his mouth to reply that their apartment was nicer than any place he had lived as a kid, but knocking cut him off. He glanced toward the wall that hid the front door from the kitchen. “You answer.” 

Abel nodded and turned to kiss Cain on the cheek. “Please,” he emphasized, not for the first time, “try not to cuss too much, and don’t smoke inside, and please, _please_ , don’t grope me or anything while they’re here.”

“I know, I know,” Cain scoffed. “We’ve been through this. Open the friggin’ door already.”

Taking a deep breath, he spared one last look for the room, double-checking that everything was in order, and went to the modest foyer. When he opened the front door, he smiled, but he had to fight down the nervous flutters in his stomach. “Hi, Mom, Dad,” he greeted, stepping aside for them to enter. “We’re glad you could make it.”

Cheryl gave her son a warm hug. “Us too! It smells great. Italian?”

“Yeah,” Abel told her proudly. “I tried a popular local recipe. I hope it’s edible.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Thomas said off-handedly. “God knows I can’t cook without burning everything. The place is still standing; you must have your mother’s knack for it.” 

Abel laughed. “We’ll see. Here, let me have your coats.”

His mother chatted amiably while she removed her thick fur wrap, careful not to twist her pearl bracelets. “Your father and I saw a deer on the way here. Can you believe that? I haven’t seen one in years. And- oh.” She peered over Abel’s shoulder when Cain came into view, offering a hesitant smile. “You must be Nikolai.”

Coats in hand, Abel stepped back, feeling his stomach flutter again. “Mom, Dad, this is Nik. Nik, my parents, Thomas and Cheryl.” 

Cain walked over, shoulders straight and back somewhat tense, as though his training in the military was an instinctual defense against meeting “the parents.” He stopped just a couple of feet away and nodded. “Nice to meet you,” he said, and there was a slight pause before he remembered to hold out a hand.

There was another pause, this one just as awkward, before Thomas offered his own hand; both grips were tense, evaluating. “Likewise,” Thomas said, voice carefully neutral.

Cheryl gave a flutter of her fingers, accustomed to the way her pearls rung softly against her wrist. “Ethan must have practiced these past few days. Last time we talked, he kept slipping and calling you ‘Cain’. Poor thing kept having to correct himself.”

Cain finally allowed himself to relax enough to smirk at that; around others, they were Nikolai and Ethan, as they had been and as they would be, but around each other, Cain and Abel still felt natural, a piece of the past they could share in private. “It’s no big deal,” he told them. “I’ll probably slip a few times too.” 

Cheryl gave a soft, hollow laugh, uncomfortable with the reminder that her son had once been an “Abel” instead of her “Ethan.” It was a fake sound, one that made Abel briefly look away, and Cain tried to pretend he didn’t notice the way Thomas’ expression never broke from stoic. 

Abel finally broke the tense silence that followed and motioned to the rest of the apartment. “Well, come in, make yourselves comfortable.”

Cheryl nodded, looking at once curious and amused as she glanced around at the small office table and cramped bookshelves that separated the foyer from the other rooms. She stopped in the kitchen, face bright with the evening light streaming through the window above the sink. “It’s _darling_.”

Thomas stood by her side, eyes lingering on the cheap linoleum floor. "It's kind of small. And old.” 

Cain felt a flush of anger and shame, a swipe of heat beneath his cheeks and along his throat, but he kept quiet. Abel's blush was enough of a reply for both of them anyway, he thought. 

"It's the best we can afford right now," Abel said, trying to keep from sounding stiff. "We'll touch it up a bit until we can look someplace nicer, but for now, this is home."

Cheryl patted her son’s arm, "You know you can always ask for help."

Thomas frowned, opened his mouth to argue that, but Abel spoke first: "No. Nik and I are going to support ourselves. We’ll get by on our own work.” He reached into the cupboard and pulled out four glasses, hoping his mother didn’t press the issue. “Wine? I bought Merlot.”

Thomas nodded shortly at the wine, waving a dismissive hand as he sat down and picked up the conversation. “You’ll get there. You’re smart. Were you able to get in touch with Davenport at the Earthpoint Engineering office?”

Abel flushed a little and shot a quick look at Cain. “Um, yeah, actually. I have an interview this Thursday.”

Cain frowned, leaning back against the counter so he didn’t have to sit across from Abel’s father. “This is the first I’ve heard of any interview,” he said slowly, careful to keep his tone even. 

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Abel told him, offering a little smile laced with pride as he poured wine. “It’s a nice place, and I’d get to work on connections between here and the colonies.”

“Where do you work?” Thomas asked Cain suddenly, who reached into the fridge for a beer. 

“Mom and Pop’s diner just a few miles away,” he answered, shrugging. “Good coffee, cheap food.”

“Oh, well, at least it’s something,” Cheryl said optimistically. “What are your career plans?”

“I don’t think he has any, dear,” Thomas said, taking a sip of Merlot. 

“Dad! That was rude.”

“Well, does he?” his father asked, looking at Cain when Abel continued to look offended. 

Cain gritted his teeth, told himself he had expected as much and that it wasn't worth a fight, not when Abel wanted this so much, not when a cutting word wouldn't be worth it at the end of the day. “Not currently.”

Thomas spread one hand, as if to say he figured as much. 

Abel’s scowl slipped as watched Cain, expression softening with sympathy as he thought about the truth behind Cain’s efforts, about the grim reputation that the Alliance fighters had carried to their homes, the struggles and prejudices that accompanied background checks now that the war was over and people couldn’t remember how those _brash, uncultured, violent_ fighters had fought for their safety. The last few months hadn’t been easy for either of them, but for Cain, it had been worse. 

“I’m proud of him,” Abel said, giving his father a stern look before turning a soft smile to Cain, earning surprised expressions from both.

“Of course you are!” Cheryl said, smoothly interrupting before Thomas could reply. “Now, Abel, you have to tell me what you’ve cooked. It smells great.”

Her son nodded, slightly relieved by the change of topics, and walked with her to the stove. 

Cain watched as Abel started motioning over the different pots on the counter, half-hoping the dish would end up tasting like crap so the two would hurry up and leave. He could practically feel Thomas staring at him, see that stony expression in his peripheral, those sharp blue eyes and pale blonde hair like a bitter reminder that Abel was too good for him; Thomas certainly thought so. 

“…pasta they serve locally,” Abel was saying. “It’s pretty spiced, but the meat was marinated with this cranberry vinegar, so it’s really complemented. I got the recipe from a neighbor. And with it –” He paused and looked over the counter. 

Cheryl blinked curiously. “What’s wrong?”

“The bread…” He ran a hand through his hair. “Oh no, I forgot to get the bread.” 

Cain shrugged, didn’t want this night to be drawn out any longer than it had to be. “No big deal.”

“He’s right, Ethan,” Cheryl said. “It’s okay.”

Abel hesitated. “It’s really good with the pasta though, and the store’s right down the road…”

Cain rolled his eyes, knowing he was about to become the errand boy. “Look, prin- eh, Abel… _Ethan_ , it’s a bit late for me to run out.”

Abel nodded. “I’ll get it. I know which type to get.”

“I’ll go with you!” Cheryl told him. “I’d love to see what the little grocery store looks like.”

Thomas stood up, careful not to knock over his glass of wine. “I’ll go too, then.”

“Well, we don’t all need to go, Tom. You and Nikolai stay, Ethan and I will be back soon.”

“Wait–” Cain and Thomas said, nearly simultaneously, and they shot each other aggravated looks. 

Abel hesitated, worried that he might come back to an injured father or a chain smoking, Russian-trash-talking Cain, but before he could suggest an alternative his mother was tugging on his arm. “Come on, Ethan. Let these two get to know each other. We’ll be back in just a bit.”

Abel gave a slow, uncertain nod before grabbing his wallet. “Okay, um… If you need anything, Dad, make yourself at home. Nik, remember to take the shortcake out of the oven, okay?”

Cain snorted but agreed, and Thomas let out a short sigh.

Then it was just the two of them, and the apartment had never been smaller.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried the name Nikolai in this story, since it's the speculated canon name. 
> 
> Also, I took the idea of Cain working as a waiter in a diner from Seb's Savior story. Couldn't resist!


	3. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel really bad that I haven't finished this story already (should've been done months ago sdhfusdhf;jdsfi) but I've had so little desire to write anything lately, so here's this awkward interlude I meant to put at the start of the next chapter. Please accept this as my apology.

Each step away from the apartment complex felt heavier than the last. Abel glanced toward his mother, whose green eyes were flitting like little birds as she took in their surroundings, lips pursed, perked and pink, an expression of high-class witnessing low. She smiled at a group of kids playing across the street, but otherwise that expression was set, locked in surprise and charm and a dash of amusement. 

Abel stopped mid-step and awkwardly put his foot down. “This isn’t a good idea.”

Cheryl turned around, her curls bouncing much like the pearls on her wrist. “The bread?”

“You know what I mean.”

The smile Abel thought he had seen earlier now grew prettily. “I think we should give them some time.”

“They hate each other,” Abel said, hearing the disappointment and frustration in his own voice. “At least Cain is trying, but Dad…”

“Ah, ah,” she shushed him, holding up a finger. “You’re trying to dictate the situation, dear. Let things play out. By the time we get back, they’ll either have found a common ground, or they really will hate each other. At the very least, it’ll expedite the process; less awkward ‘rising action’ that way. Didn’t you learn anything in your literature courses?”

Abel stared at her, mouth open like he wanted to argue, but he couldn’t find the appropriate words. “That’s dramatic,” he said at last, frowning like he always did when he was stuck on a problem. 

She sniffed. “Hardly. You’re just unpracticed. But, well, this is your first relationship, hm?” She smiled again, and it was suddenly shark-like. “You’ll learn. Come along now. Let’s get that bread. And Ethan, you didn’t tell me your neighborhood was so- so cultural! How darling.”

It took a moment for Abel to follow, and it took even longer for him to dispel his dumbfounded expression.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy goodness, I'm so sorry this took months to finish. I hope it's not anticlimactic after all that time, I've just felt very unmotivated to write anything lately.

The room was warm, saturated with the smell of spices and a tension Cain swore he’d always remember. He looked at the table, the stovetop, and back toward the foyer like it might make Abel return any more quickly. Meanwhile, the little clock above the stove softly ticked, punctuating the silence in a way that made Cain want to grit his teeth. 

Abel’s father looked just as uncomfortable. He stood with a disgruntled sigh and went to the counter to pour more wine into his still half-full glass. He pointedly avoided looking at Cain, choosing to stand by the stove rather than resume his seat. 

It went on like that for several minutes, both men trying to ignore the other, both men keeping their backs straight and their lips turned down like correct posture and sour expressions were suddenly high priorities. 

Thomas was the first to break, and his words were laced with bitterness. “What the hell do you want? Money? Is that it? Do you want me to bribe you to go away?” 

Cain’s knuckles whitened around his beer. He thought about ignoring the old man, but the blatant accusation in the air was too thick, too aggressive. “No,” he gritted, glaring up from his chair. “I don’t want your money, and I certainly don’t need it.”

Thomas snorted and motioned around the kitchen. “Like hell you don’t. Look at this place.”

“It suits us fine.”

“It suits _you_ , maybe,” Thomas pointed out, grimacing, the graying line of his eyebrows pulled down. “My son deserves more than this. He certainly deserves more than some- some cheap mockery of a living and a gypsy _mistake_ of a relationship.” 

The chair scraped loudly against the floor as Cain stood, anger and embarrassment heating his face. “ _Fuck you_ ,” he spat, sharply enunciated both syllables. He didn’t care that he had promised Abel to refrain from cursing, didn’t care about anything besides getting this asshole and his opinions to shut up. “Abel and I aren’t some fucking fling.”

“ _Ethan_ doesn’t know what he wants. He’s been under stress, but eventually he’ll come to realize how foolish this all is,” Thomas said, wine glass forgotten on the counter. “You must realize he’s too good for you. He’s educated and compassionate and well thought of, and you’re just a colonist, and a…” He paused, like the words were too bitter to speak. 

Cain’s eyes narrowed, lips curling in a snarl. “A man,” he filled in. “I’m a colonial man.” 

Thomas shook his head like it was a shame, looking unimpressed and at a loss for words over his son’s rash decision. “He’s confused, that’s all.”

“I hate to break it to you,” Cain sniped, hands forming fists at his sides, “but your son loves taking it up the ass.”

Thomas’ eyes widened in surprise for the blatancy, but he was quick to glare. “Look, you outclassed son of a bitch, I want you gone. I want you out of my son’s life and on the next shuttle back to the shithole you came from, or I swear to God I’ll do everything in my power to make your life on Earth a living _hell_. Do you understand me?” He shook, livid and close to spitting, his hairline reddened by the time the words left his mouth.

Cain’s scowl made his nose wrinkle, and he stalked forward slowly, meaningfully, his shoulders tight with threat, until their faces were inches apart. “Listen up, grandpa,” he gritted out, forcing himself to keep his voice under a shout. “I’m here. That’s not going to change. You can bitch about it all you like, but you and your fucking threats can go jump out our poor, paint-stuck window, because I happen to fucking like your son, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let some judgmental, decrepit-” 

“What’s that smell?” 

“Don’t try to change the fucking subject, you pretentious ass,” Cain growled, giving Thomas a shove.

Thomas looked affronted and stepped back, brushing at the front of his shirt. “I’m serious, you little shit. I smell something.”

Cain scoffed and opened his mouth to make some snappy retort when he suddenly froze.

As if scripted, both men simultaneously looked at the oven, and their anger dissipated in the wake of an onslaught of surprise and dread. “Do you think…?” Cain started, but then he smelled it too, the undeniable scent of burnt shortcake. “Oh fuck.”

They darted for the oven, almost comically frantic. When Thomas opened the door, smoke curled toward the ceiling, revealing the crisp black top of the evening’s dessert. Cain felt his stomach sink at the sight.

“Don’t just stand there!” Thomas snapped. “Get it out!” 

Cain reached a hand forward before catching himself, and he had to ignore Thomas’ comment about “idiots not knowing when something is hot” as he quickly rummaged through drawers until he found a pot holder. He placed the lightly smoking shortcake on the stove top and stood back at an angle, tilting his head like a different perspective might help the blackened cake. “Shit. _Shit._ ”

“Shit,” Thomas agreed solemnly. 

They stood in silence, grim-faced as they watched the ruined dessert stay very well ruined. 

Cain grabbed a knife from the kitchen block. “Maybe if I just… shave the top off…” As soon as he began to carve, the bread crunched and crumbled. 

“You’re just making it worse,” Thomas sighed. 

“What the hell do you suggest, then?”

Thomas shrugged, and they were silent once more, like two men would be in the aftermath of witnessing an accident. 

“It’s your fault,” Thomas offered lightly after several moments had passed, and Cain only groaned in response, using his free hand to rub his face. 

“Abel’s going to kill me. Tonight was supposed to be perfect.”

“Hah.”

“Yeah.” 

Cain put the knife back in its block and felt all energy leave him. He sat down heavily in his previous chair before downing the rest of his beer. He was surprised when Thomas sat opposite of him, and even more surprised by the sullen look on the old man’s face. 

“You’re not the only one in trouble,” Thomas assured him. “Cheryl will blame me for not remembering to help. Wretched woman will probably make me listen to Josh Groban on the way home.” He shuddered, disgusted at the thought. 

“That’s rough.”

“You have no idea.”

Cain gave him a pointed look. “Uh, I’m dating her son, a true mama’s boy if I _ever_ met one. I definitely have an idea.”

Thomas snorted, but he nodded. “Ethan has always taken after his mother.” The line of his mouth twisted briefly, but he only shrugged. “They’re both dramatic.”

“Fuck us,” Cain grumbled. “We’re both in for a lecture.” 

Silently agreeing, Thomas stood only to return with the wine bottle, and Cain couldn’t help but smirk when the old man poured himself another full glass. 

“I’m not trying to pick a fight, you know,” Cain started. “But I’m not going anywhere. I meant that.”

Thomas took a long drink. “You don’t love each other.”

“Who’re you to say?”

The kitchen clock ticked in the silence, and Thomas took another drink. “He wrote home about you several times. His ‘talented fighter, Cain.’ He told us you became his best friend.”

Cain tried to sound casual as he retrieved another beer. “Oh yeah? He said that?”

“Said you were ‘passionate and quick to act’, didn’t know he meant you’re a reckless ass, but yeah, he did. Truth be told, I was shocked he got along with a colonial so well.”

Cain grimaced and looked away, running his tongue over his teeth and tasting beer. “He’s not as close-minded as you.”

“I believe you used the word ‘pretentious’ a minute ago. I’m surprised your vocabulary is that broad.”

“Hey!” Cain glared, tapping the table with the bottle in his hand. “Just because I’m not blonde and rich doesn’t mean I’m fucking uneducated.” 

Thomas held up a hand in a placating manner. “Ah, yes, I know. I’ve just been surprised one moment after another ever since he returned home.”

Cain took a long drink, shrugging to that. “Lot to take in.”

“Yes.” 

“Look,” Cain began with some agitation, toeing the foot of the table as he tried to distract himself from the light blush he could feel on his cheeks. “You guys don’t have to see me much or anything. It’d make Abel – Ethan – happier, but I know I’m the last thing you wanted for him, and if it’s going to be like this every time then I’ll just make sure I’m working when you visit or whatever because this whole thing was supposed to go great, and Abel was so fucking excited for all of it.” He sighed, motioning pointlessly with the hand that held his beer. “But you don’t like me and I don’t like you, so…”

Thomas swirled the low contents of his glass before pouring more. “It was supposed to go perfectly, huh?”

Cain rolled his eyes. “We practically _rehearsed_. I had fucking _rules_.”

“Oh yeah?” Thomas raised a brow. “Like what?”

“Like no cussing. Fuck me.”

They were both surprised when Thomas laughed, but he quickly drowned the noise in his glass.

“And this sweater,” Cain continued as if he hadn’t heard, tugging the collar away from his throat. “It’s hot and itchy and I feel like a fucking hipster. I’d never wear this. And now the cake is ruined and Abel’s going to be pissed, and I’m still not sure why it’s called a ‘pound’ cake in the first place.”

Thomas shrugged, the knowledge entirely lost on him. “Do you have the recipe? We could try to make another; at least have it in the oven before they get back.”

“No. I have no idea how Abel made it.”

“Well, we’re two capable men; I’m sure if we put our heads together, we can think of some solution to this mess.”

Cain hummed under his breath. “Yeah, you’re right.”

 

-

 

“It’s called _Pinteres_ t, Ethan, and it has the cutest ideas for fall decorating. I’m going to make your father buy me all the crafting materials I need.”

Abel laughed at his mother’s earnest enthusiasm as he used his free hand to pull his keys from his pocket. “I’m pretty sure he’s not going to be overly fond of that.”

Cheryl let out a rather undignified raspberry. “Bah, whatever. I always get what I want.”

Laughing again, Abel nodded and opened the door to the apartment. “Yeah, you definitely- Oh my God.”

The entire place smelled like burnt bread, and when Abel turned the corner past the foyer, he found his father and Cain – whose sweater was in a heap on the floor – drunkenly sprawled out on each end of the couch. His eyes did a quick scan for fight wounds, but both men seemed to be unmaimed. “What, um, what happened?”

“Abel,” Cain addressed him, shaking his head like he had witnessed something tragic. “The cake- it’s fucked.”

“Fucked,” Thomas repeated. 

Abel heard his mother give a little “oh my” from behind him. “You let it burn?” he asked. “And you’re… drunk? Why are you drunk?”

“Do you know your windows won’t open?” Thomas asked, voice slurred and concerned. “That’s a safety hazard.”

“Fucked,” Cain said again, nodding his head like he his mind couldn’t move beyond that point. “Like, really.”

Abel stared in shock, only half-remembering to close his mouth before he peered into the kitchen to see flour-covered countertops, half a stick of butter on the floor, a cup of milk sitting by itself, and sure enough, a blackened pound cake sitting atop the trash can. “You…” He shook his head and scratched the back of his neck. “You guys really suck, you know that? I can't believe this.”

Both men gave drunken hums of affirmation. 

“Well,” Cheryl said, clapping her hands together. “They didn’t kill each other. I’d call it progress!”

Abel gave her a disbelieving look. “They trashed the kitchen, and then they trashed themselves.”

“They tried, dear.” She smiled widely, pearls shining to match. “I just hope you have more wine!”

“Beer’s in the fridge,” Cain supplied. 

“Oh, thank you, Nik!”

“You’re getting drunk too?” Abel asked warily, wondering how his whole night of preparation had gone to waste. 

“No, no, Ethan. I just like to have a drink with my meal. Come on, hon. We’ll enjoy dinner together, and then we’ll laugh at those idiots when they bond over their hangovers. It’ll be fun!” 

As his mother began to retrieve bowls from the cabinet, Abel spared the couch another skeptical look. “Um, do you two need anything?”

“No rules!” Thomas advocated vehemently. 

“Fuck rules!” Cain agreed. 

“And sweaters. Fuck those too.”

Both men began to cackle, and Abel wondered if he liked them better when they hated each other.


End file.
